The Warrior and His Lady
by Artemius
Summary: My first fanfic. I wasn't planning on writing this, but I got out the old books and reread a few and Martin the Warrior tore my heart in two, again. So this is my little attempt to stitch it back together.


_O warrior mouse, protect Redwall!_

With a few careful taps, Martin finished chiseling the words into stone and stepped back to examine his work. Nodding in satisfaction, he set the hammer down and massaged his paws gently. How could he be so tired? He hadn't felt this tired after he finished battling Tsarmina. How many seasons ago had that been? He quickly decided that he didn't actually want to count them out. He felt old enough as it was.

A soft groan escaped him as he bent over and mixed just a little grease in with the stone dust created by his poem. Trying his best to keep his paws clean, he began covering over his work. Dinny would have done a neater job, no doubt, in half the time. But Dinny had gone on ahead to the Dark Forest, like so many others. Skipper and Lady Amber both in the same season, wise old Abbess Germaine, gentle Columbine. Martin still couldn't think of Gonff without a lump forming in his throat.

Martin couldn't help but marvel that they were all gone. Or, to be more precise, that he was still there. All the battles he had fought, the number of times he had lain at the very brink of death, and somehow he had outlived them all. All but Bella, of course. Bella of Brockhall, as he still thought of her even though she now spent almost all her time at Redwall, remained ever the same, except for a little more silver in her fur. Sometimes Martin thought she would still be here even when the Abbey itself crumbled into dust.

"Are you all right, Martin?"

"Summoned by my own thoughts," the mouse muttered to himself as he turned to face his old friend. "I am well, Bella. Merely finishing up one last job." He would have preferred to remain undiscovered, but he had long since learned to adapt his plans swiftly.

"I must ask you never to speak of this," he said as he finished disguising the last line. "It will be found at the right time, by the right creature."

Bella studied him as he carefully unrolled the tapestry and refastened the bottom edge, completely hiding all signs of his work that night. "I suppose this has something to do with your sword disappearing."

"It will be found," Martin repeated firmly, "at the right time, by the right creature. When the Abbey has need of a warrior again."

"Who will this creature be?" Bella asked.

Martin smiled as he thought of a little mouse stumbling along in over-sized sandals. "An orphan in need of a home," he told her. "He will find one at Redwall, and know no mother but a kindly badger lady." He caught Bella's reaction and laughed. "Not you, old friend. You have adopted enough warriors. It will be many, many seasons before Redwall knows such desperate need."

"Thank the seasons for that," Bella murmured fervently. "You look tired, Martin. Why don't you rest now?"

"Yes," he agreed, "it is time for me to rest." He grabbed her paw and squeezed it tightly as his vision grew watery. "Good night, Bella."

The old badger held his gaze for a long time before returning his squeeze and releasing his paw. "Good night, Martin the Warrior."

Martin settled himself into his cozy gatehouse room, giving a last fond look at the various keepsakes scattered around him before he extinguished the light. What an odd assortment he had collected over the years. A shelf scattered with shells from the shore of Salamandastron. An old board covered in peeling paint that spelled out _Wuddship_. A rough sketch of a mouse dancing with a crab. A framed copy of Abbess Germaine's first drawing of the Abbey. In the corner stood his old armor, long unused but still bright and clean. He was still staring at it, reliving old battles when he drifted off to sleep.

It seemed only a few minutes later that he woke. He wasn't sure what had disturbed his sleep exactly, but he was instantly alert, aware of another's presence in his room. He bounded off his bed smoothly and then froze in shock as he stared at the young maiden he had loved and lost a lifetime ago. "Rose..."he whispered, reaching out to her. "I'm sorry."

She silenced him with a paw against his lips. "It was my home we fought for. Did I not have as much a right to die for it as you? You owe me no apologies, Warrior."

"I am not a warrior any longer," he told her.

She laughed merrily. "Still refusing to see what is so very clear to every other beast. You have always been, and shall always be, a warrior. Hanging up your sword does not change that any more than Badrang taking it from you."

He shook his head, catching a glimpse of himself in his burnished shield as he did so. He was once again young and strong, and understanding dawned on him. "You have come to take me away."

Rose nodded. "There is a great feast prepared in the Dark Forest. A certain Prince of Mousethieves is especially impatient."

The mention of his best friend brought a wide grin to Martin's face and he stepped forward eagerly before drawing back. "He can wait a bit longer. First, I want to show you the Abbey."

"I've already seen it, silly." Rose laughed again, a silver chime in the night. "Do you think I haven't been watching you?"

"But I want to show it to you," Martin insisted.

Rose relented and set her paw in his. "All right. Show me your Abbey."

He took her through every bit of it, starting down in the cellars. They strolled through the night without feeling the chill as he showed her the orchards and the pond, all that was left of the lake that once covered Kotir. The dormitories were full of sleeping beasts, none of whom stirred as they passed.

They ended at the top of the empty bell tower. "A splendid bell will hang here one day. I wish I could have heard it ring out over Mossflower," he said wistfully.

"You will be back," Rose assured him. "The Abbey will once again have need of its Warrior."

Martin looked at the weather vane, with its secret that none among the living now knew. "There will be other Warriors," he told her.

"And they will need guidance," she replied. "You have always come to the aid of those in need."

He turned to her with a mournful expression. "I was too slow when I was needed the most."

Rose looked away from him, her face showing a brief but fierce internal battle before she turned back. "I will say this only once, and then I do not wish to speak of it again." She waited for him to nod before she continued. "I long ago accepted my death as necessary." Martin started to protest but she silenced him with a stern look.

"You are a hero in Noonvale. They still tell your story there. They will always tell your story there."

"Our story," he interjected before she scowled at him again.

"But you could not stay there. Not just because of me," she anticipated his response. "You would have stayed, had I lived, but you did not belong there. You were needed for a time, but not the same way that you were needed here. You belong here."

"And you?" Martin was surprised at how nervous he felt asking the question. "Where do you belong?"

"With you," she answered without hesitation, twining her paw with his. "Always."

As the moon shone down brightly on the quiet night, the Warrior and his Lady watched over Redwall Abbey.


End file.
